


We've Never Been Apart

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:06:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5697802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis had woken up in a bad mood, Harry could tell when he’d made two cups of tea and left both on the kitchen counter long enough to go cold, (Harry’s suggestions of “Just microwave it, Lou,” have fallen on deaf ears for the past five years, apparently, "that’s fucking disgusting Harold”). He’d just gotten back from his ski trip, and yeah, okay, it’s not ideal to have to go on a stunt so soon after Christmas but he’d seemed pretty cool about it, Harry’d gotten plenty of smiley snowy selfies and several short videos of Louis "snowboarding" off things in his hotel room. No videos of him actually on the slopes though, the lazy shit.</p>
<p>Based on the bakery sighting and the shared/matching guitar cases.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've Never Been Apart

Louis had woken up in a bad mood, Harry could tell when he’d made two cups of tea and left both on the kitchen counter long enough to go cold, (Harry’s suggestions of “Just microwave it, Lou,” have fallen on deaf ears for the past five years, apparently “ _that’s fucking disgusting Harold_ ”). He’d just gotten back from his ski trip, and yeah, okay, it’s not ideal to have to go on a stunt so soon after Christmas but he’d seemed pretty cool about it, Harry’d gotten plenty of smiley snowy selfies and several short videos of Louis "snowboarding" off things in his hotel room. No videos of him actually on the slopes though, the lazy shit. 

He’s curled up on the far end of their sofa playing with his phone, the TV on but muted in front of him. Harry walks past and grabs a hoodie that had been slung over the back of the sofa and shuffles off to the kitchen to re-boil the kettle. He shimmy’s his socked feet from side to side in a lazy Footloose impression as he waits for the tea to stew for the right amount of time “no less that ninety seconds Harry I’m serious”, and carries it into the living room, checking Louis’ not actually working on something before sliding his phone out of his hand and replacing it with the tea.

He flops down on the other end of the sofa in case it’s a “don’t crowd me” mood and waits for Louis to talk. He will, eventually, and Harry knows he’ll get a lot more out of him if he just waits.  

“I don’t want to go,” he eventually says, and sips.

“Chicago?”  

“Yeah, don’t want to go again, not – just…not.”  

Harry decides it’s safe to shift, and sits up, putting his arm around Louis, pulling him into his side.  

“Oi, the tea, watch it,” he complains, as a drop falls onto his sweatpants.

“Oh shut up.”  

“Rude.”  

Harry ignores the griping and carries on, “Why the change of heart? You like Danielle, you had fun the last time. Almost too much fun.” Harry vividly remembers the near-lethal stroke he had when he saw the ass tat selfies Louis had sent him.

Louis sighs heavily and rubs a hand over his eyes, “I do, I do like her. And I’d like her a lot more if she was a couple thousand miles closer.”

“It won’t be for long, a couple of days and you’ll be home again," Harry reassures him.

“Yeah but until when? How long’s it before I’m off again for god’s sake?”  

“Doesn’t matter.”  

Louis turns to stare at him properly now, “Yes it does, I’m sick of leaving all the time.”  

“Well you’re here now aren’t you?”  

“And I won’t be in about five hours, that’s the point.”  

“Let your mind not wander where your feet fear to tread,” Harry says, smirking and patting his head.

"Oh, well, fuck, listen to Mahatma over here, pardon me.”  

Harry snorted and unfurled his legs, standing into a full body stretch, cracking his back as he arched and groaned.  

“Right, up and at em, lets go,” he said, shrinking himself back down and smacking Louis’ thigh.  

“What? No, I’m not going anywhere today.”  

“Yes you are, we’re going out.”  

“No I’m not, I’m st-” he cut himself off mid-sentence and squinted at Harry, “ _We_ , Harold?”  

Harry smirked, “Yes, _we_. Apparently it’s my husband’s last day of freedom before he’s taken off in some sort of blacked out cargo jet and smuggled into the US to live a life of misery wi-”  

Louis kicked him behind the knee and rolled his eyes, “Will you at least let me propose to you before you go calling yourself my husband, you’re so desperate. Also you’re not funny.”  

“Nope,” he replied, popping the P and smiling ear to ear. “Now, go, get dressed,” he said, pushing him towards the stairs.

—

“Oh for gods sake, a bakery Harry?”  

“What? I’m pining for my youth.”  

“ _’Pining for the fjords?!’_ ”  Louis shouted.

“ _’This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! This is an ex-parrot!’_ ” Harry quipped back.   

“See now you’re funny, babe,” Louis winked and grabbed the handle of door, holding it as Harry passed in front of him. Louis jammed his hands in his pockets as he waited for Harry to order…whatever it was he was ordering. He was good with desserts, of the many roles assigned to them in their relationship, Harry was definitely the Dessert Chooser. Mainly because Louis would eat anything and Harry was picky, _“I’m off the unrefined sugar, Louis,”_ he shrilly mocked in his head, although apparently his eyebrows were acting along, because Harry had turned around just in time to catch his expression and was staring confusedly at him.

Louis shrugged, unrepentant, “You. Unrefined sugar.”  

Harry just sighed. 

—

“A bakery is one thing, we can’t have a picnic, someone'll see,” Louis pointed out, as they pulled into parking space just down the road from a park. Louis wished he knew which one, but to be honest they all looked the same: big, green, trees, dogs shitting everywhere, anonymous babies crying in the near distance, y'know, a park.  

“They won’t, I know just the place.”  

“…We’re on the heath aren’t we? I knew this was just a ruse to get me to fuck you in a hedge.”  

“No, Louis, come on,” he said, laughing, leading the way through the gate.  

Louis pulled his coat collar further up and his beanie further down just in case. (Harry was out with his hair down, in his knee-length coat and gold boots, one of them had to be fucking subtle.) He trudged along slightly behind Harry, carrying the unjustifiably large box of cupcakes with his arms around the bottom, like you would a wounded animal. 

Eventually Harry led them off a path and behind a row of hedges that were bigger than Harry himself. Before he could triumphantly remark that, ha, Harry had brought him here for some seriously risky sex, he spotted an old bench, a very old bench. The wooden slats were moss-covered and chipped, sagging in the middle, and when you sat on it all you could see were the hedges in front.  

“Well. Nice view. S'good that, I’m glad we’ve come here.”  

Harry just smiled and rolled his eyes, taking the cupcakes and putting them on the ground, before stepping up onto the bench and grabbing Louis hand, silently telling him to copy.  

“Look.”  

At first Louis was too busy shifting his feet and testing the strength of the wood underneath him, but when he lifted his head he had to take a steady breath. Just over the hedge was a view over London, over the skyscrapers of the financial district, not the best view you could probably have, but made all the more beautiful by its unexpectedness, and the hand clasped in his. They were far enough back that no one walking past on the other side of the hedge could see them, not unless they stepped back and really tried, it was very secluded, so secluded he wondered how Harry had found it, it’s not something you stumble upon casually. He holds the questions for later though, instead taking a few minutes, just standing, eventually sliding his hand around Harry’s waist in a silent thank you. Harry leaned his head down to nudge against Louis’ shoulder before straightening up again.

Eventually he hopped down, grabbing two cupcakes at random from the box and passing one to Harry, “Here you go, Princess,” before grabbing his free hand to pull himself back up. “Not bad this, for a Sunday morning.”  

—

They were quiet as they drove back, and didn’t speak much as they got through the door, Louis throwing his coat and shoes into a pile beside the door, as Harry hung his coat on one of the hooks and tucked his boots against the wall. 

Louis sloped off to finish throwing a bag together to take with him, lifting a nice leather one and throwing his socks and boxers into it before realising it was one of Harry’s and upending it on the edge of the bed to repack everything into a sports bag. Finally, after repeatedly packing several of Harry’s t-shirts instead of his own, he dragged the bag down the stairs after him, letting it thunk loudly on every stair before sliding it over towards the front door and making his way to the kitchen.  

Harry was sat on a stool at the island, eating a sandwich overflowing with something green, an identical one sat across from him. Louis lifted the top slice off bread, checking underneath for anything unsavoury, and when satisfied crammed half of it in his mouth.  

“Duh-r wah beh heh infuf.”  

“Chew. Swallow. Repeat,” Harry said, drawling out the words and gesturing rhythmically with his finger as he spoke.

“Driver will be here in five,” he said, swallowing.

“Lucky you eat like a wildebeest then innit,” Harry said, finishing his last bite and brushing his hands together to get rid of the crumbs.  

He polished off the first half just as the bell rang, so he quickly rummaged through the cupboards to find a sandwich bag and shoved the remaining half inside before sloping off the hallway to gather his things and open the gates.  

“Lou?”  

“Hmm?” he said, distractedly twisting the long handle of the bag the right way around and shoving the half sandwich into his pocket.

“Take this.”  

He looked up to find Harry holding a guitar case, smiling softly.

“Nah, I’m not checking anything in.”  

“Louis,” he said, grabbing his hand and forcing his fingers to curl around the handle of the case, “take it.”  

Harry’s tone was quiet, but he didn’t seem upset. Louis moved closer and wrapped his hand around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, before pulling back and kissing him on the cheek.  

“Alright, alright. Can’t see me having any peace at all can you, do this, do that, write me a song, make love to my guitar, you’re such hard work.”  

Harry just smiled again and pulled him in for a hug, squeezing him tight and whispering into his ear, “Something happy this time, yeah?”  

“Gotcha, lots of arse and dick talk, m'all over it, babe.”  

Harry released him with a laugh and shoved him towards the door, “Go, the poor driver's waiting for you." 

Louis muttered an appeasing, “okay, okay” and opened the door to find the driver waiting, hand poised to ring the bell again.  

“Mr. Tomlinson, good afternoon, may I take your bag?”  

“Uh, yeah, cheers mate,” he said, handing it over. 

Just as he stepped over the threshold he turned around, Harry standing with his hip against the edge of the open door. He took a split second and then stepped back inside, standing chest to chest with him, pulling his head down to look into his eyes.

“Something happy,” he said, kissing his forehead, “something to make you smile.”

**Author's Note:**

> Also james-winston on Tumblr!


End file.
